Having very little conscience at his time of life (after
so much contact with mankind), he considers convenience only. To go home
would suit him very well, but his crib would be empty till his young
mistress came; moreover, there is a little dog that plagues him when his
door is open; and in spite of old age, it is something to be free, and
in spite of all experience, to hope for something good. Therefore Lord
Keppel is as faithful as the rocks; he lifts his long heavy head, and
gazes wistfully at the anchored ships, and Mary is sure that the darling
pines for his absent master.

But she, with the multitudinous tingle of youth, runs away rejoicing.
The buoyant power and brilliance of the morning are upon her, and the
air of the bright sea lifts and spreads her, like a pillowy skate's egg.
The polish of the wet sand flickers like veneer of maple-wood at every
quick touch of her dancing feet. Her dancing feet are as light as nature
and high spirits made them, not only quit of spindle heels, but even
free from shoes and socks left high and dry on the shingle. And lighter
even than the dancing feet the merry heart is dancing, laughing at the
shadows of its own delight; while the radiance of blue eyes springs like
a fount of brighter heaven; and the sunny hair falls, flows, or floats,
to provoke the wind for playmate.

Such a pretty sight was good to see for innocence and largeness. So the
buoyancy of nature springs anew in those who have been weary, when they
see her brisk power inspiring the young, who never stand still to think
of her, but are up and away with her, where she will, at the breath of
her subtle encouragement.

CHAPTER VII

A DANE IN THE DIKE

Now, whether spy-glass had been used by any watchful mariner, or whether
only blind chance willed it, sure it is that one fine morning Mary met
with somebody. And this was the more remarkable, when people came to
think of it, because it was only the night before that her mother had
almost said as much.

"Ye munna gaw doon to t' sea be yersell," Mistress Anerley said to her
daughter; "happen ye mought be one too many."

Master Anerley's wife had been at "boarding-school," as far south as
Suffolk, and could speak the very best of Southern English (like her
daughter Mary) upon polite occasion. But family cares and farm-house
life had partly cured her of her education, and from troubles of distant
speech she had returned to the ease of her native dialect.